The day from the movies.

My brother once said that if his life ever stops feeling like a movie, it's time to change it up. I don't think I need to change anything for a while.

About three months ago, my scooter started having trouble with the carburetor. About two months ago, it got so bad that it started dying on me at stoplights, and I got desperate to get it fixed. So I got it to a shop (rather, a friend of mine did... but that's another story) that was recommended by this friend's friend, and even despite bad reviews online, I decided I'd trust this friend's friend and the one positive online review. The mechanic had my scooter for a few days while I was in Fresno, and I picked it up the day after I got back. It ran well! Hooray!!!

Two days later, I was riding to work on a 50mph four lane rode, when something in the engine snapped, and I coasted to a stop on the side of the road. This whole day is another story, too. But I'll just sum it: a man picked me and my scooter up and gave us a ride home in his truck. He seemed like a cool guy, and he proved to be in our short acquaintance. (Dear Jesus, thank You for keeping me safe.) Once I got home, I called the mechanic, and he said he'd pick up my scooter and take it to his shop to figure out what was wrong with it and only charge me for the gas. Oh, good! How reasonable of him!!

A few days later, he called and said that the whole top half of the engine would need to be rebuilt, and it would cost $600. I thought about it for a week, and decided that having a new engine for $600 would be less expensive than a new scooter or motorcycle or car, so I decided to go for it. He had me pay a $400 deposit (oops... never again), and said he'd have to order parts and wait for them to get there, then put in a bunch of hours... it'd be a few weeks. Okay, I said, as long as I get a well-working engine, that was fine with me.

A couple weeks later, I called him to see how it was going and when I could pick it up, and he said he was still waiting for a part; call back next week. This went on for the next month. "Still need a few days, call back next week," shop is closed, "a mechanic quit on me leaving tons of extra work, I'm doing all I can for you," shop is closed, yada yada yada.

On Saturday, I asked them to make it a priority and have it done on Monday. Last night (Sunday), I talked to a good friend and she helped me see that I really have the right and need to demand my scooter back. So I decided to go get it, unannounced, the next morning (this morning).

I was really nervous about my decision, because while I was infuriated and ready to punch someone, I was concerned about what might go down. I don't think I've explained this: the mechanic is in his 50s, about 6'3", 250lb, has a long goatee and bald head with flaming tattoos up his arms and neck, has a very powerful and angry presence. He seemed civil and nice unless I asked too many questions, which held me at bay for much too long. So when I decided to go demand my scooter back, I knew I was walking into something that could be quite--how shall I put it lightly--unpleasant.

I tried to go to sleep, but I couldn't relax. So at about 1am, I turned on my computer, got on facebook, and watched some netflix. A friend from church was online, and we started chatting. He asked how I was, and I told him what I was planning to do the next day. "Want some back up?" he asked. YES, PLEASE. Because I knew he would be with me, I was able to get some sleep.

So Brandon and I went to the shop together. The mechanic said he'd need another week because he had to order more parts (right...), and I asked him to write down the day it would be ready and sign it. "No. I don't do that s***." We asked him why, and he said it was a waste of his time. "So waste five minutes of your time for me, and write it down," I said, in a far more stern voice than I ever thought I'd use with a man of his stature. (Honestly, I'm pretty pleased with how tough I was with him.) He said no (in anger with profanities), and Brandon said that if he didn't, we'd call the cops. (I had my phone out already.) He started yelling, ripped of his glasses and pushed towards Brandon, and I dialed 911. My attention was split for the next while as I tried to talk to the person on the other end, but I remember asking for a card with their address on it (ha! Awkward...), getting yelled at to get the f*** off this guy's land, walking to a spot one foot away from his driveway, and continuing the conversation with the sheriff department (I guess I got transferred to them at some point!).

The mechanic yelled that he'd give us back the scooter and the money I paid, too, and he put the scooter (and pieces) next to us on the side of the road, still using very rough and (supposedly) intimidating language. (At this point, I wasn't afraid of him. I mean, I wasn't going to ask him to hit us or anything, but I hadn't peed my pants at his first outrage, so I wasn't afraid of him anymore. Instead, I laughed and shook my head... which is more angering than language and threats, I know. So hah, big tough guy.) One of the younger mechanics (also a big guy, though a bit apologetic and caught in the middle) came out with an invoice with stuff written on it and said that it stated that I was getting all my parts back, and if I signed it, I'd get my money back. "How much money will I get back?" I asked, interrupting the 911 call. "Uh... $300," he responded. "No. I gave him $400. I want $400." "Okay," he said, "but you'll have to talk to Sam about it, and he probably won't give you anything." I decided to risk it.

After a while, a deputy sheriff came out and asked what the trouble was. I explained everything to him, and told him that I wanted my $400 back. He told me that he couldn't make Sam pay it back, but he could go tell him to. His job, as an officer, was to keep the peace. So he told us to stay outside while he went in and talked to the guy. (Thank goodness we didn't have to.) He came back, saying that the guy wasn't going to pay anything, and said that if we want to pursue this, it's a civil case. Okay.

During the wait before the officer arrived, Brandon made arrangements to leave the scooter with the mechanic next door while he and I drove across town to pick up his dad's truck with which to take my scooter back to my house. (Have I said already how glad and relieved I was that he was there with me?! Oh my goodness.)

So that's what we did. Though the truck ran out of gas on the freeway and Brandon had to siphon some into the tank (and probably swallowed half a gulp). Poor Brandon! After seeing what his body went through in trying to get rid of the gas, I would not even want the crooked mechanic to drink a sip. (Although... no! Happy thoughts, Sarah!)

Finally, we got back to the scooter and started loading it. One of Sam's mechanics came over and said, "So how's it workin' out for ya'?" I wasn't sure if he was being sarcastic or apologetic. I decided he was being apologetic, so I said, "Man, how is it working for that guy?!" in a friendly I-fear-for-your-life tone. "Eh, it's fine! We've been friends for fifteen years!" "Okay," I responded, "you must be on his good side. Good for you." Sam was standing in his driveway, laughing loudly. (Oh! Earlier, when the sheriff and we were leaving, someone called out in a very mocking tone, "Have a nice day!" I looked back into the dark shop and flashed a huge grin. Sir, you will not make me unprofessional no matter how hard you try.)

I tied down the scooter, and aside from one tip (that was the truck bed's fault, not mine), there were no more incidences on the way home. Except for being pulled over by a cop, of course, who told us (at the end of some questions) that he pulled us over because the scooter looked suspicious, but we didn't look like criminals. Aside from that, we got home just fine.

We unloaded the scooter and parts and headed out on the road again to get some FOOD and switch cars, then go to the beach and play music to relax. (It was about 3 or 4pm at this point.) We were relieved that the day was done. But it wasn't.

The truck broke down on the freeway, and after a few hours of waiting and towing, Brandon and I finally got to his car, went to In-N-Out (the most delicious I've ever had), then he took me home.

Dad and I talked through the day, and he said that he hasn't paid the bill on the credit card that I used to pay the mechanic with, so he challenged it, and hopefully the guy won't get the $400 at all. It sucks that my scooter is ripped apart, but I have it back. It sucks that it all went down the way it did, but I know that I can be tough and strong, and still stay professional even when a big scary guy gets angry. And I know that a lot of people love me (you facebook peeps are awesome!) and are interested in my life. And I have another good friend who was there with me and for me the whole day, and even drank some petrol. (Please don't ever do that again, Brandon.) And I banked on God's protection, grace, and justice, and He came through. And now I'm showered, cozy, and safe, and am thinking about talking to my roommate (who is a lawyer) about possibilities.

So today, the day from the movies, we won.

What the heck am I supposed to title this as?!

Today was one of those days that I realized I'm an adult. I'll tell you about it.

This is the first autumn I've experienced since the first one after my mom died. I hadn't expected this, but there are a lot of emotions tied up in seeing leaves changing color, breathing in the crispness (yes, even in San Deigo... sometimes), and hearing early Christmas music. The holidays are a very emotional time, really. Most of the emotions that are publicized are positive, like happiness, thankfulness, and contentedness, but for me (and for many), the holidays bring up less-light emotions, like sadness. (Side note: If I or anyone else ever seems cold to you or like we don't share in your happiness, please don't take offense and have patience with us. We're coping.)

Okay, okay. Everyone knows that the holidays can be hard and horrible. The point of this post is not to educate you on an already known phenomenon; it's for me to tell you about my day. Apologies. I will now get back to the topic.

For the past few days, I've been feeling down. Over the past two and a half months, I've figured out a few of my signs of grief, and I've been experiencing them: Less cheery, more easily overwhelmed, need everything to be perfect and perfectly controlled (by me), and the sensation of hunger is a comfort. The results are that I've been quite stressed and losing weight (which I don't really mind at all). Working five busy nine hour shifts this week didn't really help me relax, so when I finally arrived to today, I felt as I would imagine an Olympian would feel having just finished preliminary race. (Okay, that might be a bit dramatic. But you get what I mean.)

It always takes a while for me to let things go and chill out. One day isn't usually enough time. I enjoy two days off together, because during the first day, I can procrastinate. (I love procrastinating. It makes me feel powerful, free, and in control.) The second day, I've rested up enough that I have the energy and motivation to everything done. So I woke up concerned that I wouldn't be able to relax by the end of the day, which added to my stress load. (Oh bother.)

BUT. I did laundry, washed my sheets, cleaned my room, and fed myself (though I can't remember what I ate), then forced myself to take a nap. And I slept. Not very deeply and not for more than two hours, but it helped me rest. Then I decided to pack up my messenger bag with my journal and Bible, and headed to Panera. (I walked, because my scooter is still in the shop. My goodness, I'll be so happy to have that back!)

(I feel like I'm rambling a lot. It's been happening lately. Even in person. Oh well. This is just how I can communicate right now, I guess.)

Anyway... I sat at Panera for a while. I ate, journaled, and rediscovered Isaiah 30. (So good.) Feeling a bit more refreshed, I called a dear mother-figure friend and chatted my way to Target, where I realized I'm an adult. (FINALLY! Shew, I've taken a roundabout way to get to this point.)

I realized that I don't have any Christmas decorations--nice, lasting decorations--that I've purchased for myself, for my home. I've relied on family decorations or handmedowns, and those just won't do anymore. I have a home, and I get to decorate it however I want. (Yes, even before Thanksgiving.) Oh, and this is the first year that I've actually had a job that pays enough to live on, so I felt content and justified in splurging.

I ended up getting lights and a snow globe. And once I find the perfect things, Charlie the Blue Betta Fish is going to have a white plant and white pearls in his bowl. (It will set off his fins beautifully.) I also got slippers (which will hopefully help my knees adjust to use again every morning). And Dove chocolates. And new shoes for work.

See? I'm an adult. I spent hard earned money on myself and my home. The time for waiting for a home of my own is over--because I have it. Granted,  I expected to have a home with a husband by this age, but what the heck. I get to do everything exactly the way I want, and in this control-freak mood I've been in lately, I'm enjoying it.

May your nose be red with cold and your eyes behold colorful leaves. Also, may your pain be turned to strength and your hopes be turn to realities. Hang in there, everyone. This is not the end.

Peace,
Sarah

A slightly delirious muse

Today, I have the dangerous urge to think about all things that mean Home. Like remembering what Home smelled like, sounded like, felt like. And who was there on a quiet afternoon stolen away from college studies. Listening to a sewing machine whirring away, chatting about cool stuff I learned in class with the one person who always seemed interested (and tried to not seem too grossed out), and waiting for the last person to come home from work. Going outside to feed a large red animal (no, not Clifford), sitting with her and watching the sunset as the feed is munched by her big jaws, smelling the sweet alfalfa and grain.

It's just so beautiful. I knew I had it good.

Maybe when I have my own home I'll stop waking up and feeling like I'm in the bed I grew up in. And maybe the longing for the home I used to have won't be quite as deep and tugging. I don't know.

All I know is, I'm homesick. Homesick for a home that's gone, for a person that's gone. Sometimes life sucks, I guess. But they say it's worth it. And besides, there are other good things going on. I mean, come on. I lived in New Zealand for a while. Now I live in San Diego. And there's a city full of people I love that I can always go back to and visit. And there's facebook, keeping everyone connected. So let's raise a glass (of Guinness, please) to hope!

Life does not always require understanding

Think about it.

If you're going for a walk, you don't think about what muscles you're using. As you walk along, you'll notice the people around you, the music that's playing on your ipod, the colors of the cars driving by, the smell of the air. Basically, you aren't thinking about the mechanics of the electric pulses from your brain, down your nervous system, to your motor muscles, making them move in a constant falling/catching motion that we all know as "walking." Most of us don't even understand it. We don't need to understand it in order to do it--we just do it.

The only understanding a child needs to have when her dad says, "Jump! I'll catch you!" is that her dad is trustworthy and fully capable of catching her. That's all she needs to understand. She doesn't need to understand why he's asking her to jump, though sometimes it's obvious. If there's a fire in the building and she's trapped with a window as her only escape, it's plain why her dad would want her to jump to the safety of his arms. But sometimes it might not be so obvious. And she doesn't need to understand the father's task of estimating how far out his daughter is going to jump, how much time he'll have to correct any guesses as her foot leaves the windowsill, and how to catch her with enough strength to stop her fall and enough gentleness to hurt her as little as possible. These are considerations that she doesn't need to know--that she doesn't need to understand. If she tried to understand it, she'd freak out.

In the same way, if someone sat down with you and told you everything that the most-studied scientists know about the form and function of how you walk (complete with colorful diagrams), it would take days--years to understand it fully. During this amount of time, you could be doing something else. Like seeing the world. Experiencing different cultures and different people. Getting married. Raising a family. Speaking to nations. Writing music. Making millions. Who knows?? Don't get me wrong; it's good that people dedicate time and energy to study the body. But it's not something that everyone needs to understand. Why? Because we don't need to understand things in order to do them.

Now I'm getting to my point--the inspiration of this post.

I don't understand what God is doing. I really don't. But I don't have to. All I need to understand is that He's trustworthy and fully capable of leading me, communicating with me, hearing me, loving me, and keeping me.  Because He's God, for goodness sake.

Trust in the Lord with all  your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make your paths straight. Proverbs 3:5-6

P.S. The whole chapter of Proverbs 3 is pretty amazing and thirst quenching. Read it here.

Filing.

Over the past four months, I've had to get rid of a lot of stuff. Actually, it began before I left California. As I prepared for this year of adventure in NZ, I got rid of a lot of stuff that I didn't want to bring or store. Wait... it began before that, when we had to clean out the house we grew up in when it was sold. Hold on... I guess this is something that continues as long as we breath. Sometimes it's possible to get away with not sloughing stuff off, but the time inevitably comes when everything has to be reckoned with, and I don't mean Doomsday.

Of late, "getting rid of stuff" doesn't mean physical stuff. As I've been filing at work, Father has been using it as an example, teaching me good things. With filing, He said, "Just as each of these papers has its particular place, so do your memories and emotions that are attached to them." In the solitary hours in the lonely filing room (affectionately known as The Dungeon, where Annoying People are sometimes sent for Solitary Confinement... not that I'm annoying--braving the room is in my job description), I revel in His comforting (though sometimes uncomfortable) presence. He brings up memories that haven't been touched for months or years, and He says, "You've grown up and matured since then; how do you see it now?" We look at it together, amend and/or forgive (if amending and/or forgiveness is necessary), then tidily put it away in its proper place where it can easily be found again when necessary.

It's a very tedious task, as filing papers can be. I get home tired and exhausted, sometimes relieved, sometimes grieving. Because with every memory to be filed away, I have to let it go.

I've been blessed with a very enjoyable life (enjoyable for the most part, anyway), so remembering isn't painful. Saying goodbye to them is.

When will the goodbyes end? I don't think they ever will.

If I ended the post here, I'd be in danger of leaving you and myself depressed. So here's an encouragement:

Just as it's a time of Goodbye, it's also a time of Hello.

I'm making new memories. So are you. We're continuing. We're getting to new horizons. We're discovering more about ourselves, others, and Holy Father! How amazing is that??

This joy of The New keeps me going. I guess we don't need unexplored lands to be pioneers. Just be willing to say Goodbye.

Dancing

Sometimes when one lists things to praise God for, the reason is because they feel really happy and joyful and can't help but let the praises overflow to the written word visible to others. Other times, the reason is because one feels depressed and very unhappy and decides to list things to praise God for as a therapeutic exercise--a "yet I will praise the Lord, for He is good and has given me good things" proclamation, if you will.

This post, dear reader, is of the former category. I just feel so happy! I tend to be dramatic, so everything is either a crazy celebration or a battle to the death... and for the past few months, I've felt myself going through more fighting than dancing. (Neither is better than the other; they're different kinds of good.) So while I know there will be more "battles" in the future, I will savor this happiness and use its energy for this list of praises.

- Holy Father created me! Not only did He think about creating me, He did it. And now that He's done it, He hasn't rejected me or neglected me. On the contrary, He promises to help me, keep me, love me, like me, be with me... forever. All these next praises are because every good and perfect gift comes from Him.
- I have a job. One that won't end in a week or two. One that is with kind and interesting people. One where they like me and are glad to have me. Last week, I was worried about where I was going to find money because I couldn't bear to wash windows anymore (couldn't handle the 80% rejection) and busking was also close to becoming unbearable. In addition to that, I'd become spoiled by the job in the vineyard, where I worked with people--people with whom I could carry conversations through the whole day and actually start investing in relationships. Going back to windows and busking seemed lonely and fruitless. (Or should I say "grapeless"? Bad joke. Sorry.)
- I have friends. Whether I am able to hang out with you in person, over skype, or through facebook, I appreciate that you like me and that some of you even like me enough to want me to fight or dance harder, and that you exhibit this by encouraging or exhorting me. You know who you are (I think... do you??). Thank you.
- I went for an exercise excursion this evening. (I've ceased to call them "walks," "jogs," or "runs," because they usually involve all three to some extent.) At one point, I decided to run up a hill to a certain point. I knew it was going to be difficult, and that I was going to want to quit at 3/4 of the way up. So I said to myself, "Okay. It's not going to kill me. At the worst, I'll throw up and/or faint. If that happens, someone will find me eventually since I'm in a neighborhood. And that probably won't happen, anyway." I decided on where I'd start running and where I'd stop, and I did it with determination. A funny thing happened near the end: my legs actually went slower and slower. I didn't want them to, but they did! Every single step was a battle! I ended as soon as I was *maybe* at the decided finish line, and I was wheezing and coughing for the rest of the way up and down the hills towards home. It was quite uncomfortable. But I did it. And I didn't die. Or faint. Or throw up. I almost wanted to die, though. But I didn't do that, either. Instead, I proved that I was stronger than the momentary discomfort. (Heck yeah, I am.)
- As I stated before, these things are possible because (read carefully)....

Holy Spirit is with me. He promises to help me, to hold me, to cherish me, to train me, to guide me, to have relationship with me.


That reminds me: Relationship.

Sometimes, it seems like a relationship with God is viewed as one-way. Some see it as them talking to God as if listening to them is the only thing He wants to do. Others see it as them listening to God, as if talking to them is the only thing He wants to do. Both are mistaken. Because it's a relationship, being two-ways. See? YES, God likes to listen to you. YES, God likes to talk to you. He likes both! He likes the interaction that is in the nature of relationship. If He wanted you to be a drone, He would have made you a drone. But He didn't want a drone (and still doesn't). He wants a friend. A daughter/son. A lover. Someone with their own will. This has been blowing my mind for a while now. I hope it blows yours, too.

That's all. Thanks for reading!

P.S. I think my writing style is better when I'm slightly depressed. This post that I'm writing in a happy frame of mind is a bit scattered. Apologies.

On Success

I went to the beach yesterday with a group of friends. It was beautiful! The day was mostly sunny with some big puffy clouds meandering across the sky, the breeze went between pleasantly playful to dramatically fierce, and the water... the water was a beautiful green from a distance and clear from up close. It was a bit bracingly cold at first, but once my body numbed to it, it was delightful.

The whole day was pleasant and I could tell you about everything that happened, but I'd rather focus your attention on one element.

While most people in our group were trying to catch waves with boogie boards, there were a few people who were trying to catch the waves with nothing but their bodies, called "body surfing." It looked so cool! So the second time I went in, I asked them to teach me how. It was harder than using a board, because it involved a lot of waiting and much more precise timing, but I found it more fun because of the extra challenge.

I missed most of the suitable waves. I could tell because I'd jump forward (towards the shore) right before the wave broke, then kick... but I'd feel the wave pass me and leave me where I'd jumped. I could always tell when I'd missed it.

The interesting thing, though, is that I couldn't tell when I'd caught one. It didn't feel like I was surging forward towards the shore, driven by the strength of the sea; on the contrary, it felt like chaos. Sand, water, and bubbles rushing at me from all directions, threatening to get up my nose and drown me. Really, there were a few times when I could have easily freaked out, not knowing which way was up or if my head was above or under water. But I always remembered something a good friend once told me: "If you're in a wave and you don't know which way is up, just relax; you'll float to the top eventually." So that's what I'd do.

After being blustered by all this chaos for a moment or two, I'd reach for the bottom with my feet and be surprised at how shallow the water was. I'd stand up and look around, and realize I was quite a few meters closer to the shore from where I'd been just moments ago. My instructor-friend would look at me with a huge smile on her face, and she'd say, "You did it! You caught a wave!"

So in the chaos, in the uncertainty, even in the fear of not knowing what was what, I'd been succeeding.

A Step

I've been here before, many times. The point of such pain and discomfort that I can no longer stand it. I fall on my knees and put my forehead to the floor. "Father!" I cry, "What am I to do? Help me! Help me!"


With such gentleness and tenderness that I don't recognize His actions, He leads me back to the place that we fell in love; the place where only He knows me, where He is the only One I see. Sometimes it's through talking with a friend, sometimes it's through a podcast, sometimes it's through music... He's creative and not limited to one thing.

We bask in each other's presence. He romances me and promises protection and faithfulness, and I praise and worship Him. "O, my One! My Savior! My Stability! My Strength!" Here, in this place, is an ocean of peace--a glory that I pant for. How else can I describe it? It reminds me of the eagerness with which I would meet my dad after he returned home from work trips. Only it's more.

Why does this have to happen again? Why can't I stay in this forever? I know He is with me always--why can't I know it as I know it right now?! Why do I reach the limits again and again, falling in the same place and over similar things? When will I get it?!

He answers me, with such gentleness that reaches with keen precision into my heart: "It's another step in the process. Sometimes the steps all look the same as the ones before them, as in a staircase. Though they look like they aren't changing, you're progressing up the staircase, higher and higher. Peace, young one. I see your progress; you just see the step in front of you."


With this calm assurance, I rest.

Good.

Year end rhetoric

When I close my eyes, I can easily place myself into a familiar surrounding of the past. The apartment that I recently lived in, the house I grew up in, favorite coffee shops, church rooms. As I, in my imagination, sit in a favorite chair the family room of my childhood home, I hear the tick-tocking of the coo-coo clock, the humming of the refrigerator, and the faint singing of birds in the trees outside the window. I can smell the familiar smell, feel the familiar dryness of the air-conditioning (for this is a quiet summer afternoon), and I feel the presences of my parents, who still reside there. It's peaceful.

But what's this new impression in the mix? Sadness? Discontentedness? Dissatisfaction with the known and established? How long has this feeling influenced the atmosphere? The thirst for something more, some new experience, wisdom and knowledge--hasn't it been building for some few years? Adventures were still to be had: I hadn't lived over twenty miles away from Fresno.

But here, I'm comfortable. This home, this fortress of protection and good memories; it's a sanctuary and a refuge. Rather, it used to be. In my memory, it still is.

How dangerous is it to retreat into memories, visions from the past? How steep of a slope is it to bask in the comfort of a cheery home of long ago? It is so easy to remember only the pleasantries. What of the dissatisfactions and irksome ambitions? Are they to be forgotten?

At this point, I could carefully drudge up the unpleasant things and feelings that occurred. I could carefully outline and state the things that annoyed me to no end or gave me grief, whether severe or simple. Perhaps that would be worthwhile--an exercise to remind me that the past is best left where it is, and that the present and future deserve all of my current attention.

But what of this contemplation? Is it useless? Am I wasting my time and language on an unimportant activity?Maybe this is a tribute to the past in another effort to make a truce with it. As you can see, the waves of consideration go back and forth, up and down, and it is easy to be swayed by them. Maybe I am not making sense anymore. I seem to have gotten lost in this dim fog. Of what was I speaking before? Oh yes. Visiting places lost in the past.

While I am not ready to say that contemplation of the past is to be totally rejected, my conclusion is that it can be dangerous. If I spent all my time imagining myself in places that I will never be able to return to, what happens to my present situation? If I dedicate my energy to remembering, what energy will be left to create and achieve in the present, and dream of the future? Yes; the past is important, but more so is the present. After all, there is glory in the future, not the past, and the process of growing and being pruned is a thing of the present.

Onward I look, with my face to the light before me. There will doubtless be darkness that will try to swallow me up, but it will fail. Jesus Christ is my Gain, Holy Spirit is my Guide. And Holy Father? He is as His name declares: my Father. Holy, huge, and loving. The Father of lights. What can stop me? Fearlessly I go on.

Year 2012, bring it on.

'Tis the Season! (Does that phrase make you cringe, too?)

Dear friends,

Today is one of those cloudy and dark days where it's hard to not be gloomy by the end of it. But I guess it's okay, because it's been a bit difficult to get into the "Christmas spirit," though it hasn't been from a lack of trying. This past weekend, I went to two Christmas productions, shopped in a mall (which was decorated and had Christmas music playing), and drove down a few streets with houses draped with twinkle-lights. The weather has even been trying to help me out. The day we celebrated Thanksgiving (no, it isn't usually celebrated here), it rained all day. That was nice! And for the past few days, it's been cloudy and rainy. Soon we'll get a Christmas tree and I'll probably stop being weirded out with the warmer weather. And if I'm not, oh well.

The end.

And the sun rises...

Hello friends!

The last entry to this blog wasn't pleasant, but this one is! :)

Since the last post, I've met new friends (YAY!), started busking (being a street musician), and washing windows (today was my first day at windows). These are all very cool things, and they're connected to each other. I'll tell you how: meeting friendly people my age boosted my confidence to go busking (as well as encouragement from facebook friends... you all rock). The first day, I earned $50 in three hours. That boosted my confidence to go window washing today. I did one job. The owner was a nice old man who seemed like he wanted some company, so when I was done with the windows I had some tea with him. At the end of it (about 2.5 hours, including the job), he handed me a $50 and didn't want change. Woohoo! I was so glad that I just went straight home and called windows good. Then I cleaned up and went busking for two more hours, earning $40. Not bad, not bad.

Anyway, my whistle is clearer and my voice is singing more. There's a spring in my step and a sparkle in my eye. I'm excited for life and SO excited to see what comes around.

Speaking of excited for life, I'd like to share one thing with you that kinda blew my mind: Enjoy what you do. I think it's probably possible. Vacuuming, washing windows, playing music on the street, helping people out at a counter... I don't know. But whatever you do, if you decide to enjoy it, you might start to. And then everything is much more pleasant.

There you go. Time for evening tea!

Peace,
Sarah

A disappointment in the midst of discomfort

Dear friends,

This wouldn't be an honest blog if I only posted when I was feeling happy or when I've just gotten good news. It wouldn't even be interesting if I restricted it to light and cheery things. Today I was disappointed, and while I express it as a form of therapy through this post, you might find it interesting, as well.

After barn-sitting for a week, my boss gave me a few days off. It's been really nice, because on the day of their return, I was really fed up and tired out by the job and just wanted a break. So for the past three days, I've basically been resting. It's been so nice!

Today, my boss called and apologized for being "out of touch" for the past few days, and that there's a change. My confidence with the horses leaves stuff to be desired, and there's another girl (with much more experience than I have) that they'd rather take on. Why pay two people to do a job that one can easily do? I'm really good at most of the job, but unless I can do all of it, I'm not the best candidate. My boss said that she does have work for me for a while, though: helping her with gardening. I don't mind gardening, by any means, and I'd actually prefer not having to go through the stress of trying desperately to be confident with the horses, so while it's a disappointment, it isn't all bad, and there's a relief in it, as well. The fact that they want to keep me on means they see that I have a good work ethic and that I'm a nice person to be around, so I know that it isn't that they don't like me, it's simply that I don't have enough qualifications to do the job they originally hired me for.

Lately, I've been working on not taking things personally. Them saying that I'm not confident enough with the horses doesn't mean I'm any less of a person. (Easy to say... why is it hard to believe sometimes?!) It's interesting, really interesting what things are exposed as what I thought were foundational to who I am, that really aren't. Yes, I like horses. No, I'm not completely comfortable with them. And it seems like every time I experience something like this--a letdown--it's even harder to be comfortable and confident with them. It's as if I believe what the other people say more than what I believe my own ability is. Do I even believe I have that ability? Or that I can train it up? I'm not sure if I have a pleasant answer to those questions.

After the call, I started thinking about confidence. How can someone have it? It seems to be something that's built up, over time and through experience. Okay... so if I want to be confident with horses, how do I go about that? Well, if I don't find myself succeeding at the level I am currently in and there isn't much hope of progress, perhaps I should go back down to a level that I've mastered to build the confidence back up again. Until some shred of confidence comes back, the best thing to do is to be honest about where I'm at; no use pretending! Avoiding jobs that require confidence in certain things is probably a good idea. Instead of saying I'm qualified with the hope I'm confident with horses or the hope that I'm good at multitasking (like at another job that didn't work out), being honest about my capabilities and going after what I'm already confident in is probably the best way to go.

But what if the things I'm confident in aren't things I can earn money with? The things that come to mind immediately are playing ukulele and knitting. How can I make money with those? Neither really drip of lucrative opportunity, do they?

At this point, the easiest thing to roll off the tip of my tongue is, "Well, Father's brought me this far, He'll take me the rest of the way!" But now there's a catch. He's been stressing that this is relationship, not a dictatorship. Yes, He's the One with all the power, and if it weren't for Him nothing would exist--I'm not saying anything otherwise. But He decided to have relationship with me. That means the road goes both ways, that we are two individuals and I'm allowed (encouraged!) to have my own opinions and ideas and dreams, and I share them with Him as He shares His with me. So... while it's much easier to remain indecisive and let others (or circumstances) rule out options for me until the decision is less complicated, I feel the need to actually stand on my own two feet and think about what I want.

That's hard. Because going after what I want means I might fail. Going after what I want means I might be wrong. Going after what I want means I can't blame anything on anyone else. It's scary enough to make me shrink back and pretend none of these thoughts ever happened. But change can't happen until I'm too uncomfortable with things the way they are that I'll be willing to shift things.

It was overwhelming today. But it might not be tomorrow, and it definitely won't be in a month (maybe less!). So I have hope, don't worry. I do know God's got me, and a plant that needs to grow in a better way needs to be pruned back viciously. (Mary found that out when she went over a young tree with a lawnmower. It had been struggling to grow before the accident, but then shot up afterwards.) I am a very uncomfortable, bewildered, and tired individual, who feels very far from home and far from the me I know. But I do know there's hope. I know there is.

Thanks for reading. I really appreciate the feedback!! May peace and hope give you rest, wherever you are,

Sarah

Musing

Dear friends,

I went for a drive today. I've been going on a lot of drives lately. While I was barn-sitting, I'd have about five hours free every day to use as I wished. I used a few of them to go driving and exploring the countryside. This evening, I was melancholy and a bit lonesome, so I went for a drive. I started out at about 7pm and hoped to make it to the west coast in time to see the sun set. I didn't make it, because there aren't any main roads along the west coast (at least not anywhere close to where I went). Oh well. It was still a pretty drive. And it only took about 45 minutes to go as far west as I could. Ha! Talk about a small country.

As I drive, I often wonder if I'd rather someone else be driving so that I can just look at the scenery without having to pay attention to the road. There is so much to look at and so much to take in; it's like I feel the pressure to have to remember everything I see so that I can fully enjoy it. But tonight I started thinking about it in a different way. I'll explain it here:

When I see a beautiful sunset, and I mean a beautiful sunset--red sky, puffy clouds, brilliant and glorious colors and textures, I am filled with awe and wonder. To do anything other than watch the sunset seems irreverent and much less important. And, every time, I want to remember it--take a mental picture so that I can remember it in days to come, it's just that beautiful.

Today, as I was watching the sunset, I was filled with awe and amazement, as I have been a lot lately. (Yes, the rumors are true. New Zealand is beautiful.) But I realized something: No matter how hard I try, I can't make myself remember something in the future. I can't take a mental picture of something and then force myself to remember it, in the future. Does that make sense? I can make it available to my future self, but I can't make my future self take advantage of it. Besides, only when I'm looking at a sunset do I remember the feeling of looking at a sunset; all other times of the day, it doesn't cross my mind. The same thing happens as I drive. The scenery is so beautiful, so green, so unique... but I don't remember it well. What a shame!

But is it a shame? Maybe the point of a beautiful sunset or beautiful scenery isn't to be remembered, but to be enjoyed in the moment. Like a good conversation with a friend. Who remembers all good conversations they've had with a friend? I'd assume that no one does. Yet the conversations (or moments of awe in nature) deeply affect us in ways that we probably won't understand. Besides, if the point was to remember everything, what mental capacity would we have to enjoy current things? If I spent time remembering a beautiful sunset, maybe I'd miss the one that's happening right now, in front of me. Same with conversations with friends. Relationships change, because we change. Everyone changes. Even our relationships with Holy Spirit change, because we change and He is ever revealing more depths of Himself to us. Trying to remember everything would be like putting down a stepping stone to cross a river, then trying to pick it up and take it with you as you continue crossing.

Yes, there are some things that need to stick in our memories. But to live the present so that it's a good story about the past to be told in the future... that's a bit confusing and maybe even messed up, and I need to stop living like it. I need to live in--and enjoy fully--the present.

That's all.

Thanks for reading. May peace and joy accompany you in whatever you do. For many of you, it's Thanksgiving today. Happy Thanksgiving. :)

Sarah

Accidental (and bloody) exposure.

Dear friend,

The sky is blue with puffy white clouds, the breezy wind is blowing and making a nice sound through the trees and fields, and the spring flowers continue to bloom and blossom.

And I'm sick.

Do I have the flu? No. Congestion? No. A sore throat? Nope, not even a sore throat.

Then how am I sick, you ask with a perplexed look on your face.

Well, I'll tell you.

I'm homesick.


Yes, it's true. Rachel sent me a great article about students who study abroad. It informs the reader that there are charted ups and downs that happen in the emotions and mentalities of young people who move to a different country for a while. According to it, I'm heading down for a low point. I'll tell you how it's happening:

I woke up early this morning, as I have done for the past few mornings, to breakfast myself and the horses. I didn't have a lot to do for the horses, because I'd put everything together that I could for them last night, and all I had to do was put in a few things that have to wait to the last minute, mix them up (with my hands, of course), and distribute them. I was less prepared for myself, however, and was out of breakfast food. So I decided to open a can of beans. (Please remember I'm not living with Arna and Peter this week--I'm on my own, and when the opportunity provides itself, I hopelessly still live like a college student.)

Once I got the can opener positioned and ready, I realized it was broken. While it would pinch the can just fine and even puncture it slightly and the thing you turn turned obligingly, the gear on the other side of it wouldn't turn with it. I might have given up, had there been other food. But I'd been looking forward to those beans (yes, I know, I'm strange), so I decided to be resourceful and try to open the can, anyway. The can opener could still puncture, after all!

So I started on it. I kept pinching the handles together and moved the opener up and down, up and down, around the can. It worked! At least... it mostly worked. It would only work for maybe a couple inches, then the rim of the can would be too bent out of shape to continue in that section. So I'd move to another section and start again. I'd been doing this process for about a minute when I decided to get a spoon and try to pry part of the cut sections up, so that maybe I could pour out the beans. So I got a spoon and started prying.

This next paragraph is one that you may or may not want to skip over, depending on your stomach. You can skip to the one after it, if you'd like.

Yes. My hand slipped. And as the kinetic energy took my hand towards the can, the pried up part of the lid neatly sliced off part of my index finger's top knuckle. I won't tell you how much skin was left on the sharp edge of the can, but the section missing from my finger was about 7mm by 3mm, and possibly 1 to 1.5mm deep. (That's really deep.)

All I knew at first (before inspecting the damage) was that my right index finger had roughly brushed past a sharp object, and it had the pre-pain sensation. By reflexes, I grabbed it with my left hand and held it tightly, afraid to look at it. Finally I had to (because not only did I need to see it, I was curious), and if there had been anyone around with whom I felt comfortable, I would have started freaking out and let them handle everything. But I was alone, and everyone else on the property (who are nice, but I don't know very well) were still asleep.

So there I was, standing at the kitchen sink, clutching my finger. I tried to think of what to use to stop the bleeding, but since it wasn't my house, I wasn't sure where to go. I couldn't use the towels because I didn't want to stain them, and the only other absorbent thing to use was toilet paper, but I didn't want to use that either because it might leave particles behind, once removed. So I just stood at the sink, occasionally rinsing my finger, squealing (I would have yelled, but it wasn't my house) at the growing sting (and the experience), trying desperately to not freak out.

Finally, I went to the bathroom, remembering a box of band-aids I'd found before while rummaging for more toilet paper, and tried looking for more first aid supplies. Nothing besides the aforementioned band-aids. I took one and went to the stable, hoping to find a first aid kit there. Still nothing. The owners had taken it with them on their trip with the two horses (understandable).

I rinsed my finger (for the tenth time... it was really bleeding), dried it off as well as I could without leaving any blood on the towel behind, and hurried to get the band-aid on it, tightly. Success! But I wasn't about to celebrate, because I was still trying very valiantly (in vain) to not go into hysterics.

The whole time this process was going on, all I wanted to do was be home as a ten-year-old and have Mom take care of it (with curious siblings either watching or comforting me by telling a story of a girl who once cut her finger and how she got through the ordeal with bravery) and then have something exciting to show Dad when he got home from work. (See? Homesick. And not just for a place, but for an era.)

I felt like a scared little girl, ever so far away from Home, having to deal with a crisis as a grown-up, with a grown-up job still waiting to be done (the horses still remained to be fed). I wanted to call Dad over skype, but that was impractical as I don't have internet in the flat and the battery of my computer is limited. And what could he do for my finger, anyway? He wouldn't be able to bandage it, let alone see it properly. So I did the next best thing and texted Katherine. She advised I call Arna, so I did.

Really, since the cut wasn't bleeding through the band-aid (mighty little piece of plastic!), Arna said it should be fine, and she'd take a look at it once we both got to her house. Good. That's what I needed to hear. I really just needed to hear a mother tell me that it would be okay and that I wasn't going to lose a finger. She didn't say those words, exactly, but her practicality conveyed the same amount of comfort.

I fed the horses (doing everything with my left hand and keeping my right hand up and out of the way to keep it from getting dirty), started some laundry, and then put the three horses out to pasture with the morning helper. Once I cleared the plan of leaving for the morning with one of the family residents (who had just woken up), I packed up my computer and everything I'd need (but forgot my webcam! Ugh!!), and fled to Arna's, still holding my finger up to maybe keep the blood pressure out of it and trying to not freak out. (I did fairly well when I was around the other two this morning at keeping the freaking out at bay, I think, but when I was out of sight and hearing I expressed it as silently and controlled as I could manage.)

Once at Arna's (who hadn't gotten home yet), I made coffee and toast (breakfast!), marched down to my room, plugged in my computer, and let loose of everything through writing this anecdote.

I haven't just exposed a deep part of my finger, though. This experience has rudely cut deeply into--I don't know what to call it... maybe it's my heart?--as well. For the past month I've been learning how to relax and enjoy life again at a truer level and actually live at a home with parental figures. Here, I'm fed, I'm cared for, and while I'm still an adult and am treated as one, I rely on Peter and Arna a lot for wisdom and knowledge as I'm learning a new place and a new way to get around, which really plunges me back, in some ways, into being a child. Cutting my finger provided the vulnerable opportunity for all of this to come to the surface to be seen. Does that make sense? I hope it does, because that's the only way I can think to express it.

Now that everything is all written out and processed, I suppose I'm a bit grateful for the accident. I've known the humor in it from the start (come on... I cut my finger and went into hysterics. It's funny... I get that) and I'm sure I'll laugh about it later. But for now I'll stay in this contemplative state and enjoy the calmness that comes with it. Though I'm still really looking forward to Arna properly wrapping my finger, and not so much to having to wear a glove at work for the next few days. Oh well. Healing takes time, no matter what good the wound inflicts.

Thanks for reading, and may a peace that reminds you of precious childhood envelop you with a hug, and may you know His Name as Comfortor.

Sincerely,
Sarah

Adventures all around!

This week has been very interesting, mostly in a good way! Saturday was a gloomy day, both in the weather and my disposition, so on Sunday I skipped church and went on a very long drive. It was so beautiful! I took a lot of pictures (that still need to be uploaded to facebook), went on a long walk, and fearlessly drove down roads that looked interesting. I drove about an hour north and almost made it to Port Albert (you can look it up, if you want to). It was really, really good. I'd forgotten how therapeutic driving is for me, especially through beautiful land. It was also nice because the area I drove through looked a lot like the foothills near home in the spring. That was comforting and a bit familiar.

On Monday, I went back to work. My employers said a trip was coming up this week, and would I mind staying at the stable for a week? They offered a flat that I could stay in (it's in the same building as the barn. Super cool!) and would provide food for me. Sure! I can do that!

So yesterday we packed them up into the "truck" (an RV with a section in the back for the horses), went through a list of the stuff for me to do here, and off they went. They'll be gone for six days. My responsibilities are to feed the horses in the morning, move three of them out into "paddocks" (pastures), muck out the "boxes" (stalls) they've just vacated, make sure they have water, then bring them in at night and feed them again. There are four horses who live out in paddocks, so I've got to check/refill their waters, as well as feed them in the evenings. It might sound like a lot of work, but it isn't. Also, someone comes in the mornings to help me move them, and someone comes in the evenings, as well, because one of the horses to be moved is a mare with a foal (barely a week old!), another is a pregnant mare (who's due in a few weeks, so I've got to keep my eye on her), and the other is a stallion (sweet guy unless a mare's around). Ha! No, I don't mind help when moving them.

Last night was my first night here. Before the evening feeding, I went back to the Mountains' and packed a bag, then went to the "plaza" (mall) to get some groceries. (Yes, Rachel, I got lollies, as well!) Then I came back, did the rest of the duties, then settled in to the flat. It's a nice place. I watched a movie, then went to bed. The flat doesn't have internet, so I wasn't able to sit on facebook as I usually do in the evening. (Right now I'm sitting on a stool in the barn, waiting for a water bucket to fill up with water.)

Interesting thing about this place: I have it fixed in my head that north is east, east is south, south is west, and west is north. It doesn't even matter where the sun rises and sets! So when I woke up this morning, the sun was rising in the south, and when it sets tonight, it will go down in the north. And I can't correct it! Ugh. Oh well. I guess it'll just be interesting.

Monday was really good. I was really quite happy. But then on Tuesday I started getting grumpy and insecure with EVERYTHING and it seemed like a dark cloud came between me and the sun and just sat there. It stayed there all of Tuesday and all of Wednesday, and Thursday (with everyone leaving and me settling in) was overwhelming. But Arna prayed for me, as I did, too. Because I'm a child of God, the Most High. Darkness really has no place around me. And you know what? Perfect love casts out all fear. Because I have accepted Jesus's forgiveness and sacrifice, Holy Spirit (Who IS love) abides in me and I abide in Him. So fear has no place around me, either. So these thoughts of insecurity and fear--they have no choice but to leave! ("SubMIT to God, reSIST the devil, and HE WILL FLEE FROM YOU!!" Imagine a hip-jerking jig to that. Thank you, Scott Hansen.) See? So I don't know WHY I all of a sudden came under attack, though it might be because I was relaxing and happy with Holy Spirit (and *someone* never likes that), and it also might be because something (or someone(s)?) big is going to come into my live. I don't know. But I know that Father's got me, and He will never leave me. Take THAT big cloud. Yeah. You shrivel up. That's what you need to do. Bye bye.

Haha! Anyway. That's how I've been. I love you all, and I hope and pray that the peace of Jesus covers you, and that you are able to submit everything to Him and relax in His arms, because either they're wide open and waiting for you, or you're wrapped up in them, already. Oh, how He loves you. Peace.

His humble and grateful servant,

Sarah

Developments!

My feet are sore, my muscles are tired, my face is burned, and my nose is still trying to get the crusties out of it. And I am quite, quite happy. You see, I got a job.

Remember when Arna and I went job hunting? Actually, maybe I didn't tell you. Okay. So about a week and a half ago (the second Monday I was here), Arna took me for a drive and we visited a riding stable (here they're called "equestrian centers"), a veterinary clinic, and a feed store (called an "equestrian supplies shop"). At each place, I went up to the person who looked like they were in charge, introduced myself (with a winning smile), and said I was looking for a job.

The people at the stable were really nice and liked me, and asked if I could come out in a couple of weekends (as they were busy during the next one) to see how everything is run there. I gave them my resume (which they were impressed with... yay university degree!), they gave me their number, and we promised to keep contact and figure everything out later in the week.

At the vet clinic, the two women seemed like they considered themselves too busy to be bothered, and even told me there weren't any job opportunities in the whole of Dairy Flat (the area that we were in). I laughed silently, as we had just come from a stable that had seemed promising. It's okay. I didn't want to work inside at a clinic, anyway. :)

At the feed store, I talked to a very nice lady (who was also impressed with my resume) who thought she might know of an opportunity for me to work with a family who breed water-buffalo. (Water-buffalo?!) We exchanged contact information as well, and Arna and I went home, pleased with the results of our hunt.

A few days later, I texted both the stable and the feed store, and only the stable got back to me, saying, "Hi! I haven't forgotten you!" and promised to contact me after their busy weekend.

On Tuesday, the stable people texted me and asked if I could come the following morning! I said yes, and Arna gave me a ride to them on Wednesday morning.

Before I continue with that thread, I need to catch you up on the car stuff. On Saturday, Danny and I went hunting for cars. We found a cute red hatchback that seemed to be in good condition (it was AFTER I asked Holy Father to drop a car into my lap), and I decided to get it checked out by a mechanic. So on Monday afternoon, the mechanic called and said that it would need a good amount of work done--about $800... which was very disappointing. So Arna and I (though mostly Arna; she's amazing) looked online for more cars, and on Tuesday we went to the city and looked at a few. (We also visited Arna's step-father, which was very nice.) Two of the three cars we looked at were possibilities, but by the end of it, I was so tired, so grumpy, and so overwhelmed with life that I didn't trust myself to make any decisions. As we drove home, we decided to stop by the car yard that the red hatchback was stationed at, where I planned to tell the dealer that it was a no-go. Once we got there, though, he said that he'd lower the price by about $900 and fix the essentials enough to make it safe and sturdy, as well as get a WOF for it (Warrant Of Fitness, something all cars are required by law to get every six months), and three months registration. Lowering the price this much now made this car (my favorite of all my options) the least expensive and most convenient (all of the other options' registrations and WOFs were either expired or were soon to be), and I already knew everything that was wrong or okay with it because of the mechanic's work, so I prayed again. Father basically said, "Well, what do you want to do?" I decided I really did like it and all things considered, it was a fine choice. So I decided to get it. (To which He replied, "See? I told you I dropped it into your lap!" Though I did have to do a whole lot to confirm it! *sigh* Oh well.)

So that was on Tuesday.

On Wednesday morning, Arna took me to the equestrian center, where instead of being shown around the place and interviewed for the job (as I was expecting), I started work. I mucked out stalls, filled them with fluffy shavings (nice horse bedding), showered a horse, walked another one around, stood with one as a farrier worked on his feet, etc. etc, regular barn work. (Now I really know that horses are horses, no matter what part of the planet you're on. They eat, poop, and need exercise. And this, I am quite familiar with!) I worked there from 8 to 2:30, when Arna came to pick me up. It was more work than I've done in a long time, but none of it was foreign and the people were really nice to talk to. (No joke, I felt like I was in a movie. These big, beautiful horses around, in an area with green, rolling hills, the clouds drizzling every once in a while, and everyone talking in delightful accents! We even stopped for a break of coffee and tea!) At the end of it, I was quite tired, but happy to be back home (with the horses).

The car wasn't ready to be picked up until 6, so I got a nice nap between getting home and going to sign the paperwork and everything. Once that all got done, they handed me the keys, showed me where everything was in the car (some things are backwards, but nothing too important; I'll just probably turn on the windshield wipers when I want to turn left sometimes), and bade me "good luck." Arna led me home where I realized I was getting stiff from my activity and VERY tired from all the new excitement of the day. I had a pleasant evening, went to bed early (before 10:00! Can you believe it?!), and had anxiety-ridden dreams (oh, how I hate those).

I was nervous to drive to the stable all by myself, and I had to fill up with petrol on the way. But I did it just fine (I'm sure Arna prayed for me, and it worked), and arrived at work at 8am sharp. I was there until 6. During the day, I did the barn chores that I also did the day before, as well as watch a vet examine a few horses (he said maybe I can go with him on his appointments sometime!), do spring cleaning in a few closets and shelves, and, of course, sit and drink tea with everyone.

It was very pleasant... and hard work. I am SORE. My feet are KILLING ME. My poor face didn't have any sunscreen on it, and the sun came out at about 11, so it got a lot of it. I had fun driving home, though--fun! That's a good thing, because it would be so miserable to not enjoy driving.

Okay, that's the scoop. 

Water-buffalo. Don't worry. I didn't know what
they looked like, either. Thanks, Google.

May peace that you don't understand cover you wherever you are, however you need it to. Thanks for reading,

Sarah

P.S. I'd put pictures of my car up, but I don't have any and I am NOT about to walk on my poor feet out to get any. I'll put some up later. You might like this picture, though.

An overdue update

I'd like to say that I haven't blogged because I was too busy, but that's not the case. Rather, that is the case, but it doesn't seem like it. For the past week, I have mostly stayed at home, in my room. Busy. "With what?" you ask. With facebook! And skype! And... writing letters! And....... reading! And............... sometimes taking a walk to the shore! And.........................

Highlights!

Going for a walk on the shore.

The highlights of this week have been talking to and bonding with Arna (she's amazing, my NZ mom!), going car hunting with Danny (we even polished our buffalo guns but to no avail, though we had a very nice time getting to know each other in the few hours we spent together), feeling like part of the family with everyone over for meals (especially for pancakes!! I love pancakes), and sitting on the shore, watching the water (why is it so therapeutic and never boring?). Also, I got to play uke and egg and sing with Danny and Katherine for worship in Church on Sunday. It was awesome. So far, restoration has been started in areas that I didn't know needed restoration, as well as in areas that I did know about. Good. I need that!

A very clever picture of Arna taking a picture of me.

I'd be lying if I told you everything has been easy peasy, though. Of course, as I've moved across the earth from almost everything and everyone I know, I've had times when I've felt alone and lost. And those times are no fun. The thoughts that come into my head are, "What have I done? Why am I here? And why haven't I moved on to getting a car and getting a job? Why haven't I made friends here yet?" etc. etc. It's hard. But usually by the end of the evening, Arna has made me feel better or I've gotten to talk to friends on skype or facebook or Holy Spirit finally gets it through my head to RELAX. Ha.

Speaking of relaxing, that's really what He keeps telling me to do. "Sarah, you really need to relax. Yes, you think it'd be nice to have a car already. And yes, you feel the pressure of your concept of responsibility to be out there at a job. But you've given yourself to Me and I'm controlling the timing. And I'm going to keep you here, right here, until you relax." After He tells this to me, I groan and say, "Fine!" which really isn't relaxing, and I know it. Oh well.

Left to right: Arna, Peter, Danny (my brother),
Glenn, and Debbie.

But that's an unfair picture I just painted for you. There have been times when I've been able to relax very well, and they're becoming more and more often. Do you realize how important it is that we relax? It's so important! Granted, relaxing is crazy hard to do sometimes, but I'd wager that we have the opportunity to do it a lot more than we think we do. "I have a stressful job," "I don't have money," "I'm just going through a lot right now," are excuses that are common (that I've used many times). Well, maybe your job wouldn't be so stressful if you relaxed as much as you can on your end. Maybe your relaxation will influence others to relax as well, thereby making the environment less stressful. Stress gives of pheromones, you know. Clear those stress pheromones out of the air! And maybe stressing about not having money doesn't do any good. Maybe a calm and relaxed approach to looking for a way to earn money would be more efficient and less unpleasant. Besides, who would want to hire someone into their (possibly) stressful environment who's already stressed? Relaxed people are more attractive, and you know it (so does your potential employer). And maybe, just maybe, if you relax more in what you're going through (whether you have ANY ounce of control over it or not... if you can relax), a relaxed state of mind is much more able to handle difficult and hellish times.

"But how can I relax?! If I do, everything is going to fall apart!!" Yeah, that's what I said, too. And my question in response to yours: Is it, though?

When I rode horses weekly, I learned a lot about relaxing while maintaining control of the horse. If you're all tense as you try to ride, your horse will sense it and will mimic it--it's what they do. There were countless times when I was trying (and failing) to cue the horse to do something but would get frustrated. Then the horse would get frustrated (mimicking me). Then I'd get more frustrated. And so would the horse. We would get more and more tense, till finally my instructor would have to yell at me to relax and let go of the tension. See, tension is NOT a good ruler. It really doesn't get anything good done. Once I would finally relax for a while and regain my composure (the horse, as well), we'd try again, and eventually get it. See? Being relaxed, you'll be much more able to get things done (or get through things) than if you hang onto the tension. You'll be healthier, too. (Yes, I realize I sound like a hippy. But come on, you've got to see my point.)

The tide is out. When it's in, the water  meets the cliffs.

Ha, I really didn't know this was going to turn into a sermon. Oh well. I hope you enjoyed it!

May peace and rest find you and cover you in a cozy snuggy, wherever you are and in whatever you're going through. Thanks for reading,

Sarah

Short update

I have now been here for two and a half weeks. Since the last time I wrote, I've gone on walks, helped Arna start a knitting project, looked for a car (and maybe found one!), enjoyed many home cooked meals, and generally just relaxed (which is all you can do when you don't have a car... I really don't mind). That's all for now, because I've just realized I'll probably feel more inspired to write later.

So until next time!
Sarah

Pictures from 29-30 October

Cloudy on Saturday morning. It started raining soon after this picture was taken.

This beauty behind me is normal for the area. I asked Katherine and Danny if they get used to it, and they said yes, though it's hard to think of a place they'd like to go to on holiday.

Waiting for some delicious takeaway for dinner.

I love that we're all silly.

Part of the view from the top story deck at Peter and Arna's.

Part of the view, with me in it. :)

Another part of the view from the top story deck.

Across the bay.

How crazy is it that people LIVE here?!

The first few days

During the first couple of days, I was very tired and could only manage to keep my head above water and not freak out. Don't get me wrong--I've enjoyed myself immensely; but yesterday (Saturday) became a bit much.

Katherine, Danny, Peter, and I went into town to run errands. As we were driving, I said, "We're going north, right?" To my surprise, they said, "No, we're actually going south!" Whether you believe it or not, the angle of the sun was so different from California that I really thought we were going the opposite way to what we were really going! That messed me up, quite frankly. I've always wanted to know where north was because then I know my surroundings. So to know that I was completely turned around (and not feel like it) was very disconcerting, to say the least.

The men dropped us women off at the shops and then went on with their business. Katherine and I signed me up for a bank account and put some money in first, then did our shopping. The whole time we were walking from shop to shop, I kept trying to get it into my head that north was south, east was west, etc. etc. Then other things started to get to me. The NZ dollar is different than the US dollar. The culture is slightly different, too, but in such a sneaky way that I became extremely self conscious to not do anything socially considered faux pas. Then the fact that I am the one with accent and everyone else speaks normally was icing on the cake. My poor brain became so muddled and confused that my decision-making paradigm fell apart. I was indecisive, hesitant, and not much of a person I enjoy being around. (Having to remember to say "I'm sorry?" instead of "What?" when I couldn't hear what someone said was SO exasperating, as well.)

We were done shopping in the early afternoon. To my wonder (and dismay), my interpretation of the angle of the sun said that it was late morning. The sun was in the east, I could have sworn it! But I knew (with my intellect, and nothing else) that the sun was in the west, and that north was south. So, so strange.

Later, Danny, Katherine, and I went to look at a car that I might possibly buy. Nothing super exciting, though it's manual and not automatic. I don't know how to drive manual. And the stick is on the left, not the right. Hah! At least the clutch, gas, and break are all in the same order as in the States! I'm willing to learn how to drive it, though. We'll take it into the shop tomorrow and see if everything is on the up-and-up.

The rest of the day wound down nicely. Katherine, Danny, and I had some dinner, then they brought me home. I had a quiet evening in my room for a while, then Peter, Arna, and I had some ice cream and fruit, and I played them a few songs on my uke. I went to bed around 10, satisfied that at least I had had a long day to peg my exhaustion to!

I woke up an hour earlier than I needed to this morning. I decided to stay in bed so that I could rest up as much as I could (something I neglected to do yesterday). I'd forgotten how nice it is to just lie in bed and doze in and out! After an hour of this, my alarm clock (a new cellphone) went off with this: "It's time to get up. The time is 8:00. It's time to get up. The time is 8:00." It was a harsh (and almost bitter?) voice. Cold and uncaring. I'll make sure to change the alarm to a more pleasant tune next time. Either that, or I'll just name her Judith and have someone to yell at every morning. :)

That's really all I have to say right now. Except that we went to church and had a nice time. I think everyone is coming over this afternoon for tea and muffins, which will be nice. But for now, I'll enjoy sipping my tea next to an open window, and enjoy listening to birds and distant waves. I'll post more pictures.

Thanks for reading! Extra peace for you, wherever you are,

Sarah

P.S. Today is Sunday. For those of you in the States, I am 20 hours ahead. An easy way to figure this out is to take four hours away from your time and add a day. So if it's 8:30pm on Saturday for you, then it's 4:30pm on Sunday for me. See?

P.P.S. I tried vegemite, and I liked it! Peter put a thin (very thin) layer of it between a cracker and cheese, and I enjoyed it. I even had some for breakfast this morning on a crumpet. I'm also starting to enjoy my tea with just milk, no sugar. I'll make a fine Kiwi yet. :)